


bond

by envysparkler



Series: Shifters [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Shifters, Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Sexual Submission, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: Tim gets an unexpected offer.(“Would you like to join my pack?”)
Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Shifters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995952
Comments: 110
Kudos: 759





	bond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iselsis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iselsis/gifts).



> The lovely iselsis requested to see Tim getting claimed in the shifter au in return for a prompt of my choice - I, of course, chose a Jason & Tim alternate first meeting, which was fantastic and whumpy and is up on her page!

It was at the end of a Thursday evening patrol – cut earlier in deference to being a school night – and Tim was changing, Robin costume carefully packed away as he donned a thin T-shirt and sweatpants for his trek back over to his house. Bruce had removed his cowl, staring at the Batcomputer, and he looked up when Tim crossed the Cave.

“Tim?” Bruce said, his voice strangely hesitant. Tim paused. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Sure,” Tim said, changing direction as he hid the sudden flare of unease. He’d just finished his third month as Robin, and he was constantly on the edge – he was fully aware that Bruce didn’t want him here, that he wasn’t the _real_ Robin, and he really didn’t want to defend his position _again_ tonight.

It was a stopgap measure. Just until Bruce got better. Never mind that Tim had already gotten sucked into the warmth of having adults that actually _cared_ about him, that checked up on him, that asked him about his day and waited to hear the answer.

“Your parents still out of town?” Bruce asked, and Tim shifted uneasily – Bruce had been asking a _lot_ of questions about his parents this week, and Tim wasn’t sure why.

“Yeah,” Tim answered guardedly, “What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to ask you something,” Bruce said slowly, straightening up, clearly picking his words carefully, “You don’t have to give me your answer right now. You can take some time to think about it, okay?”

“Okay, Bruce,” Tim answered, narrowing his eyes.

Bruce took a careful breath and paused, his gaze locked on Tim. “Would you like to join my pack?”

The Cave floor roiled underneath him. Tim was dreaming. This wasn’t – he hadn’t heard Bruce clearly, it was some sort of joke, a misunderstanding, _something_ –

“ _What_?” Tim heard himself ask, his voice distant and too high.

“Would you like to join my pack?” Every trace of emotion had vanished from Bruce’s voice and face, and Tim was left staring at a blank wall.

Tim opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” Stone Bruce said levelly.

“Okay,” Tim’s voice responded shakily.

“You can take your time to think about it,” Stone Bruce continued.

“Okay,” Tim repeated, the world still not stable around him.

Silence stretched around them, and Tim realized that that was all Bruce had to say.

“Okay,” Tim said again, and fled.

* * *

Tim didn’t understand.

He _couldn’t_ understand.

Bruce couldn’t actually mean what Tim thought he meant. It wasn’t _possible_. There was no reason that _Bruce Wayne_ wanted _Tim Drake_ in his pack.

He could accept that Batman wanted Robin. Batman _needed_ Robin. But the Bat pack wasn’t _real_ , no matter what was whispered on the streets of Gotham. It was like the Justice League or the Teen Titans – an informal pack, no true bonds among them.

No, if Bruce was asking him to join his pack, he meant the _Wayne_ pack. And he couldn’t ask Tim to join. He _wouldn’t_ ask Tim to join.

It didn’t make any sense – not when Robin, like Oracle, could perform his duties perfectly well without a formal pack bond. Not when Jason’s death was still fresh in everyone’s minds. Not when it was practically _pack-stealing_.

Pack-stealing wasn’t illegal anymore – hadn’t been for more than a century, after individual shifters’ rights made a big push forward, casting aside the archaic notion that the pack leader owned everyone in their pack – but it was still a little taboo, especially among Gotham’s upper class. Poaching shifters who weren’t already packless was…gauche. Marriages among the wealthy were carefully contracted to figure out who was going to which pack and what the appropriate compensation was, and taking _children_ was pretty much unheard of.

So Bruce couldn’t be asking what Tim thought he was asking. He _couldn’t_.

But Tim spent an hour sitting in his bed, wracking his head, and he couldn’t think of any other possible interpretation.

Bruce really wanted him.

Bruce Wayne, _Batman_ , wanted Tim in his pack.

Tim couldn’t stop the giddy smile crossing his face.

He opened his laptop – the only issue would be his parents. They weren’t big on the idea of packs, though, and Tim could convince them – if he couched this in terms of a learning opportunity, a chance to shadow Wayne Enterprises operations, maybe. Or he could just tell them that this was how pack fostering worked, it wasn’t like they cared. They kept their ends of the bond shielded all the time.

Tim’s fingers stilled on the keyboard, abruptly exhausted. _It wasn’t like they cared_. Because they didn’t, did they? They left for months at a time, barely calling or checking in on him. They would probably be relieved that someone was taking him off their hands.

He shook his head sharply. _No_ , he snapped inside his head. No, that wasn’t fair. They were his parents. They were his _pack_. They cared. They had to.

Tim closed his eyes and felt along the bond, careful to keep his side shielded as he ventured out to feel the echoes of his parents’ presence. They cared about him.

Didn’t they?

He held the bond in his mindscape – it was the work of a second to snap it.

Instantly, the world went cold. Tim took a breath, and then couldn’t take another, his heart rate increasing rapidly as he scrambled out of his bed. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that. Just _broken_ a pack bond without warning. His parents were going to be _freaking out_.

Tim nearly jammed his shoulder on the corner as he ran for the stairs, almost slipping and falling as he sprinted towards the office phone, the one his parents usually called him on. It was – Tim took a second to mentally calculate the time difference – six in the morning in Egypt. They had probably just woken up and felt his bond disappear.

They would call any second now, frantic, and Tim tried to prepare his excuses, tried to get ready for the lecture he _knew_ was coming as soon as they reassured themselves that he was okay.

They would call any second now.

Any second.

…Any second.

Maybe they were delayed in reaching a working phone.

Maybe they were having connection issues.

Maybe they were trying desperately to reach him and getting more and more worried as they couldn’t.

Tim took a precious two minutes to run back to his room and grab his personal cell phone, straining to listen for the sound of a phone ringing.

No missed calls. He checked emails, text messages, everything.

Nothing.

* * *

Tim jerked himself awake, heart pounding, and for a moment, didn’t realize why everything was so _cold_.

So empty.

And then he woke up all the way, and nearly shattered his phone screen in his attempt to check the call log.

No missed calls. No voicemails. Nothing on his cell phone, the home phone, his emails.

They were on a dig. He _knew_ that sometimes they lost access to communication. He knew that. It would take time for them to return to a city and call him. They were probably so _worried_.

Tim briefly contemplated skipping school, but his parents were already going to be furious with him, he didn’t need to compound the problem. He checked and double-checked that his cell phone wasn’t on silent, and made his way to school.

* * *

He couldn’t concentrate in any class, his attention fixed on the phone in his pocket, his legs jittering.

The first thing he did when he got home was check the home phone again. No missed calls. No voicemails.

_It’ll take them time to find a phone_ , he rationalized. It felt hollow.

* * *

He had to leave the phone behind for patrol. Either that, or explain to Bruce why he kept fiddling with it, and he couldn’t. Couldn’t tell the man how badly he’d screwed up.

Bruce was keeping his distance anyway – _regrets making you the offer,_ a dark part of his mind hissed – and Tim got suited up.

He felt so empty. So…vulnerable. He nearly let a mugger escape when he skittered back three steps rather than let the man get anywhere near his – reinforced kevlar – collar.

Batman called an end to patrol a little earlier than he usually would’ve on a Friday night, and Tim could feel the heavy gaze on his back as he changed out his suit and headed for the door.

“Tim,” Bruce started slowly, and Tim cut him off, almost jogging to the stairs.

“Sorry, Bruce, have to get home,” he said, checking his phone – no new messages.

“Okay,” Bruce said, “Dick said he’s coming over tomorrow morning, if you want to stop by earlier.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, thanks,” Tim said distractedly as he took the stairs two at a time.

* * *

There were no voicemails on the home phone.

* * *

Tim stayed by the phone, dragging a quilt down and wrapping himself up in it to combat the cold chill of abandonment.

_They’re going to call_ , he mentally recited, _they just can’t find a phone_.

It rang increasingly hollow with every repetition. It had been more than one full day. How long would it take them to find a phone?

He’d broken the bond without telling them. For all they knew, he was _dead_. They should’ve dropped everything to try and find him. They should’ve been on the first plane back to Gotham.

Maybe this was their punishment. Maybe they’d already called and checked in with _someone_ , and they were registering their displeasure with Tim the way they always did – by pushing him away.

He wasn’t good enough for his own parents. Why on earth did he think he was good enough to be part of the Wayne pack?

_My god, Tim,_ his mother’s annoyed voice echoed in his ear, _can’t you stop causing trouble for a_ second _?_

Tim took a shuddering breath and stayed where he was, burrowing further in the quilt. They had to call. They _had_ to.

He didn’t know what he’d do if they didn’t.

* * *

_Ring. Ring. Riiiin_ –

Tim jolted upright and snagged the phone. “Hello?” he answered, breathless.

“Tim,” his mother said, perfectly level.

“Mom,” Tim exhaled, apprehension rising – he knew how cutting her words could be and he tried to prepare himself for –

“We found another opportunity in the south of Egypt,” she said, clipped, “We’ll be extending our trip by another couple of months.”

Tim didn’t do his usual mental calculation of the probable time period this delay would push them to, still waiting for the lecture.

“How’s school going?” she asked.

“Good,” Tim answered slowly, “I –”

“Great,” she cut him off, “Study well. Stay out of trouble. Your father sends his love.”

  
The call ended.

Tim stared blankly into the distance, the dial tone blaring faintly in his ears.

They –

They didn’t –

They hadn’t even _noticed_.

* * *

It had just passed six o’clock when Tim knocked on the door to the Manor. “Master Tim,” Alfred smiled at him, “Just in time for dinner.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Tim forced a smile on his face, “Do you know where Bruce is?”

“He and Master Dick are in the Cave,” Alfred said as Tim stepped through, “You can save me the trip of calling them upstairs.”

“Sure, Alfred.”

Every step down the stairs felt like he was walking to the gallows. His palms were clammy and his throat was dry, tightening painfully when he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw Dick’s smile.

“Hey, Timmy!” Dick grinned and flipped over to him, “I thought you were going to stop by earlier. Busy with homework?”

Tim tried for a tight, weary smile, but judging by the way Dick’s eyebrows drew together, it didn’t quite work.

“Everything okay?” Dick asked softly as Tim made his way towards the Batcomputer. Bruce watched him approach, frowning slightly.

“It’s fine,” Tim muttered, feeling his heart pound in his ears the closer he got to Bruce. He came to a stop a few feet away from the man, his fingernails digging into his palms. It took two tries to clear his throat, his lungs squeezing painfully as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. Bruce’s expression slowly shifted to concern.

Tim had it planned out. The casual feeling out. The formal ask. He was going to do this like…like a transaction. Cold and neutral. And maybe they wouldn’t see how badly it hurt if they said _no_. Or worse, _laughed_.

Instead, the words that squeaked out of his mouth were – “Can I still join your pack?”

Bruce blinked. Once. Twice. His expression shifted and Tim controlled his flinch as he waited for it to settle.

Bruce smiled. “Of course, Tim,” he said gently.

“I’m glad you at least _told_ me this time,” Dick said from behind them, amused, and he ruffled Tim’s hair, “Of course we want you, baby bird!”

Tim’s knees felt weak. The world had taken a slightly unreal tinge, and he quickly knelt before he could make a fool of himself. He raised his head and waited, his heart caught in his throat.

Bruce didn’t make him wait long. He crouched down in front of Tim, one hand settling on his shoulder, the other brushing over his jaw. “It’ll feel like a hard pinch,” he told Tim, who made a small, stuttering nod – he had been too young to remember his first bite.

It did feel like a hard pinch – a brief rush of pain, before the bond snapped into place.

Warmth rushed into Tim, filling every crevice with bright light and home and hearth, and he panicked – he could feel the slow rush of submission burn through him and they were angry, they were always angry, he did something _wrong_ –

He curled up as much as he could – small, out of sight, he had to be unseen, had to be invisible because they didn’t want him, no one wanted him, he had to stay small and quiet and out of the way.

“Tim?” Worried and fearful. “Tim, can you hear me? Tim?”

“I can barely feel him, Bruce.” Anxious and tense. “What’s going on?”

“Tim, are you shielding?” Bruce – Batman asked, his voice low, and Tim felt horror course through him like a searing poison – no, he’d messed up _again_ , he knew that Jason had died and here he was, reminding Bruce of that loss all over again because he was too _stupid_ to remember and lower his shielding.

Some people considered shielding as a wall – they blocked out the bond, and had varying degrees of success with that. Tim, however, used his shielding like a security blanket – he _smothered_ his bond, drowning it in neutrality, because he’d figured out early on that his parents hated feeling any emotion from his side.

Peeling off the blanket felt like peeling off his own skin.

The warmth was suddenly fire lancing through the unprotected bond, and the murmurs around him grew into alarm as he suppressed the urge to curl up, both mentally and physically, forcing himself still under the flaying gaze. Someone whimpered, quiet and choked, and he could feel wetness on his cheeks.

There were arms wrapped around his chest and one around his shoulders and fingers brushing through his air. “Shh, Tim, it’s okay,” Bruce said slowly, “You can use your shielding, I’m sorry.”

Tim tried to tough it out, tears clinging to his eyelashes as his breaths came out in ragged sobs, but it was overwhelming him – too much sensation everywhere, eyes staring into his soul, _watching_ him when he knew he was supposed to be quiet and out of sight and invisible and _why were they watching him_?

The shielding came back up, fitting around him like a second skin, and he suppressed his presence thoroughly, wincing as the arms around him tightened. He had to be quiet – he choked down the hitched breaths and squeezed his eyes shut – he had to be invisible, he _had to_ –

The arms around his chest loosened and disappeared. Tim couldn’t stop the sharp, ragged keen, the brief, panicked flare of _don’t leave me_. “Please,” he forced out, his voice cracking, “Please, I’m sorry, I’ll fix it, whatever you want me to do, _please_ –”

No, no begging, they _hated_ begging, but Tim would do anything to make them stay, he would, _please, please_ –

“Shh, Tim, you don’t need to apologize.” The arm beneath his shoulder blades was joined by one under his knees as he was hefted off the ground. “We’re just moving somewhere a little more comfortable.”

He clutched the smooth material of the shirt between trembling fingers – no, _no_ , they would break his grip and throw him away – too needy – too clingy –

“What is happening here?”

“I think we’re going to have to delay dinner, Alfred.”

He was messing everything up – he hadn’t even been in the pack for _five minutes_ and he’d screwed up – he was going to be cast out, he knew it, Bruce was going to take him to the front door and throw him out and he would have to crawl back home and beg his parents to take him back and –

“Oh, Tim.” Bruce sounded heartbroken. _Another thing you broke_ , his mind hissed as Tim curled up further. “I’m not going anywhere. I _promise_.”

His parents kept promising to come home, and they never did.

The movement stopped and Tim held on tighter – he was going to be dropped now, he knew it – but Bruce only sat down, adjusting Tim in his lap.

He was going to leave now. He was going to walk away. He was going to leave and Tim couldn’t stop him, because _surrender, submit, please them, be good_ was running through his veins and his limbs were trembling. He would be left here, unable to defend himself, helpless and vulnerable, and it would be entirely his own fault.

Warmth, creeping over his legs and settling half on top of him, half curled around, fitting seamlessly around Bruce’s arms as fingers buried into his hair and tucked his head under a chin.

“Oh, baby bird,” Dick said softly, running gentle fingers through his hair. Tim hiccupped and tried to turn away, but Dick’s grip was firm.

There were definitely tears sliding down his cheeks now, thick and hot and wet, and he didn’t want them to see – _stop crying, Timothy, my god, you’re impossible_ – and his breaths were flutter-fast, but Dick didn’t stop stroking.

“It’s okay, baby bird,” he hummed softly, “Let it all out. We’re not going anywhere.”

It couldn’t be the truth. It _couldn’t_ be. And yet Tim’s traitorous heart couldn’t stop himself from hoping.

“Pack,” Bruce rumbled, callused fingers gently wiping his cheeks clean. The tears came back, because Tim couldn’t make them stop, but Bruce kept rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re pack, Tim. You’re _ours_.”

Tim’s breath cracked on an exhale and hitched on the next half-panicked inhale. He twisted, burrowing further into Dick’s grasp as fingers continued running through his hair, Bruce’s hand warm and gentle on his cheek.

He couldn’t stop crying – the memories of his parents’ sharp orders, the sickening churn of guilt, the terror of disapproval, the desperate prayer that he wouldn’t screw this up, and –

And _relief_.

* * *

It took a long time for Tim’s breathing to ease out of sobbing and quiet into sleep. Bruce didn’t track _how_ long, because it was getting nearly impossible to keep the fury at bay.

“Finally asleep?” Alfred asked quietly, entering the room.

Bruce nodded. “Sorry about dinner,” he whispered back – night had fallen somewhere in the endless repetition of reassuring Tim that they were there, that they weren’t leaving, that they weren’t getting rid of him.

“I will make extra batter for tomorrow’s breakfast,” Alfred replied easily, and stepped closer, sweeping a few stray locks of hair out of Tim’s pale and blotchy face.

“Where are they right now?” Dick asked, his voice controlled but his eyes flashing in rage, and Bruce knew he was talking about Tim’s parents. Tim’s _previous_ pack.

“Egypt, I believe,” Bruce whispered back. Dick’s mouth twisted into a silent snarl.

“I’ve never seen someone react to a claiming bite like that before,” Dick said levelly, his jaw working furiously.

Bruce had. They weren’t pleasant recollections.

“They don’t matter anymore,” Bruce said, keeping his voice low but letting the viciousness seep through, “He’s not theirs. He’s Wayne pack now.”

And that sent a thrill through him – the same burst of warmth every time he’d added a new member. And it was _Tim_ – bright and clever Tim, who was so brave, so smart, so _determined_. Who had pulled Bruce back from the depths of darkness.

Bruce stared down at his new son. At the sleeping face of the child that had given him a reason to live.

Jack and Janet Drake had no idea what they had thrown away.

And Bruce was never planning on letting them realize that mistake.

“My pack,” Bruce said softly, cupping Tim’s cheek, and meeting Dick’s steely-eyed gaze, brimming with protectiveness.

“We’re never letting him go,” Dick vowed, pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead as he snuggled closer to his little brother.

* * *

Bruce smiled as the owl hopped closer to the baby hawk, who was warily holding his ground. Dick trilled and hopped another step closer, _slowly_ stretching out until he was close enough to preen Tim’s feathers.

  
Tim held himself stiffly, like he didn’t know what was going on, but gradually relaxed under Dick’s ministrations.

Bruce passed by both of them on his way to the Batcomputer, ruffling the top of Dick’s head and brushing a finger down Tim’s back, earning him an indignant hoot and a soft chirp.

His pack now.

**Author's Note:**

> iselsis: i want a fluffy fic.
> 
> my brain: *holds up the whump jar behind their back*


End file.
